


An Old Habit

by fireflavored



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-30
Updated: 2009-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-19 03:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireflavored/pseuds/fireflavored
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys have changed a lot over the summer after the war, but Harry hasn’t got over the urge to spy on Malfoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Old Habit

  
Harry grinned and started across the platform, weaving his way through the throngs of new and returning students, towards his best friends.

Hermione stood on her tiptoes, one arm wrapped tightly around Ron’s waist, the other waving wildly at Harry. Ron flashed Harry a huge smile, but then inclined his head in warning. Harry followed the gesture to see Ginny standing just beyond them. His gait faltered at the expression on her face. The last time he had seen her, he’d thought they had sorted out their split, but the look on her face indicated something had changed.

 _Damned Daily Prophet_ , he thought angrily. He _knew_ he had seen reporters at the club on Saturday. And while Ginny had been remarkably accepting of his need to be free of obligations in the wake of the war, it was another thing altogether to read about it in excruciating detail.

Ron leaned over to say something to Ginny. She gave him a tight shake of her head before turning away, and Ron started pulling Hermione towards Harry.

“So, Ginny and I aren’t on speaking terms, again?” Harry sighed, after giving both his friends a quick hug.

“I take it you’ve not seen the paper this morning,” Ron said, frowning in the direction of his little sister. “This one is going to take a while, Harry.”

Hermione reached out and put her hand on Harry’s face, turning it to meet her gaze.

“Honestly, Harry,” she said, looking at him fondly, “would just a little discretion be too much to ask?”

Harry looked away again, stifling the rebellious urge to tell her that it _would_ be too much to ask. That was the whole point. He had done his duty and now he wanted to do as he liked.

A commotion at the far end of the platform caught his eye, saving him from trying to come up with an answer that would both satisfy Hermione and keep Ron from hexing him on principle.

Several Aurors had stepped onto Platform 9 3/4, utilising the standard flanking pattern for transporting someone under Ministry protection. During the first month after the war, Harry himself had required such protection if he wanted to so much as go to the Leaky Cauldron for a butterbeer without being mobbed by fans.

There were three kinds of people that warranted a heavy protection detail: high-ranking Ministry officials, pardoned Death Eaters who had received threats, and Harry. Since it seemed unlikely that the Minister of Magic had come down to see off the train, it had to be a Death Eater. And there was only one rumored to be returning to school.

The crowd parted, backing away from the threat of coming in contact with the painful repelling charms sparking around the fast-moving cluster of Aurors. And then, for just a moment, Harry saw him.

Draco Malfoy.

In the few seconds Harry was able to see Malfoy, he took in several things. First, he had gotten taller. Second, his hair was longer and, if possible, lighter. Third, he was dressed from head to toe in black dragon hide: boots, trousers, jacket and gloves. There was even a thin strap of it tied around his neck. Harry swallowed reflexively.

The knot of Aurors and Malfoy proceeded directly to the train and boarded near the front, disappearing from Harry’s view.

“So,” Harry said, clearing his throat, “I suppose it’s true, then. He’s coming back to school.”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “Dad says he’s the only one who successfully completed his probation. If you ask me, it wasn’t much of a punishment. A lot of people would love to go work with dragons for three months.” Hermione gave him a sympathetic look.

“I’m sure if you speak to Charlie, he could find you a space next year, Ron,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll be in Auror training next year,” he said with a despondent shrug. “Would’ve been fun, that’s all.”

“The dragons, maybe,” Harry said, grinning at Ron. “But, what about the dozens of screaming kids? Being a camp counselor would have driven you spare, Ron. Admit it. You’d have dropped out in a week.”

“If the Ferret could do it, I could do it,” Ron grumbled. He scowled as Harry and Hermione laughed.

“Do we need to remind you what happened when you had to watch Teddy for half an hour, Ronald?” Hermione giggled. “And that’s just one. Imagine thirty of them. For a month.”

“Malfoy had two months of training first,” Ron sniffed. “You just put a baby in my lap and left.”

“For half an hour,” Hermione repeated, smiling sweetly at Ron. “And Malfoy had two months of training in handling _dragons_ , not children.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he conceded, still looking slightly affronted. “Actually, Charlie says Malfoy was really good with the kids. Especially the most traumatised ones. Says he really connected with them. And, apparently, Norberta had something of a dragon-crush on him, too. Followed him around everywhere. Although word is she would have had a better chance if she was still Norbert, if you know what I mean.”

Hermione gave Ron a quelling look, and he shot a guilty glance at Harry.

“No offense, mate. Anyway, I’m just saying he earned his way here. To hear Charlie tell it, he’s a completely different person now.” Ron paused and peered at the windows of the forward-most compartment of the train. “We’ll see, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, staring in the same direction. “I suppose we will.”

* * *

Harry gazed blankly out of the window as the grimy outskirts of London gave way to rolling, green countryside. He was trying to ignore the sounds coming from the opposite side of the compartment. Hermione, it turned out, was not above Lavender Brown-like public displays, after all.

A loud smacking indicated that Ron and Hermione had broken apart for a moment, and Harry chanced a look at them. Hermione was giving Harry _the look_. It was one he’d grown accustomed to over the last couple of months: a mix of worry and mild disappointment that resembled similar ones he’d received from Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, Ron, and Kingsley.

“What?” he asked, more sharply than intended.

“Nothing,” said Hermione quietly, but Harry knew she wanted to return to the topic that Malfoy’s arrival had interrupted.

Harry knew it was only a matter of seconds, at best, before she would lose the ability to contain herself and he just didn’t want to hear it. He knew it all by heart.

_Harry, we know you’re just experimenting, but there are less destructive outlets for your curiosity._

_Harry, the entire wizarding world is looking to you as an example. Is this really the one you want to set for them?_

_Harry, are you being careful?_

No, he did not want to hear it. Harry stood up abruptly and started for the compartment door.

“Where are you off to, mate?” Ron asked, now wearing _the look_ , too.

“Walk,” said Harry, and before either of them could respond, he stepped out the door and made it halfway down the carriage. He heard Hermione call out to him but he charged on without looking back.

Harry headed for the front of the train, thinking he might try to find the tea trolley. He had a strong desire for chocolate frogs. And, if he was honest, an even stronger desire to get another look at Malfoy.

Midway down the next car, however, he spotted a giggling pack of sixth-year girls wearing Harry Potter t-shirts. With a low curse, he ducked into the loo, hoping they hadn’t seen him. He pressed his ear to the door, listening carefully for the fan club to pass.

As they did, he heard another round of high-pitched giggles.

“Yes, but did you actually read the article?” one of the girls tittered. “If it’s even half true, he’s been with about a third of eligible London at this point.”

“Not a problem for me,” said another. “I like an experienced man.” One of the girls let out a snort so loud and close that Harry jerked away from the door.

The voices passed down the corridor, still bursting into raucous laughter every few seconds. Harry closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the door. No wonder Ginny was so angry with him. He was going to have to kill Rita Skeeter.

Harry eventually fished his Invisibility Cloak from his jacket pocket and draped it over himself, before slipping back into the corridor. He made his way slowly from car to car, frequently pressing himself against the wall as people passed.

He was about to enter the front car when Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan burst through the door, nearly colliding with Harry’s invisible form. He just managed to leap aside and flatten himself against the windows, Dean’s elbow missing him by a hair’s breadth.

“Can you believe it?” Seamus was nearly shouting. “Malfoy nearly gets us all killed and now he’s got his own private compartment!”

“Well,” said Dean, in a calming tone, “it isn’t as if we’d have been allowed in the prefects’ compartment, anyway. Besides which, would you rather he was riding with the rest of us? At least this way the Aurors can keep an eye on him.”

“They’re not watching him,” Seamus responded bitterly. “They’re watching us. The Aurors are here to protect the bastard from the rest of us.” Seamus clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly.

Dean grinned and looked pointedly at Seamus’ hands. “I can’t imagine why they might think he needs protection.”

Seamus gave a little laugh, forcing himself to shake the tension from his arms. “Yeah, alright. Maybe they do have a point.”

“Just a bit,” laughed Dean, throwing his arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Come on, forget about him. Let’s go find Neville. I hear there are some very interesting stories about Hannah Abbott we might pry out of him.”

Harry waited until they were out of sight before slipping over to the door between the cars and peeking through the windows. Sure enough, the three Aurors were guarding the entrance to the prefects’ compartment.

Harry recognised two of them from the final battle, but he didn’t know either man by name. Ideas began to whirl in his head as to how he might persuade them to let him speak with Malfoy. He knew the routine, though. No one broke through the ranks of a protection detail without serious violence occurring. He’d been grateful for that fact at one time, but at the moment, it was standing between him and his strangely overpowering desire to have an audience with his one-time nemesis.

Harry’s stomach growled and he was simultaneously struck with an idea. He waited patiently for the moment when all three Aurors were looking away from the train car door and then slipped quickly inside.

Once inside, Harry inched slowly and silently past the prefects’ compartment and its attendant guards, making his way towards the engine of the train. He had to wait again for all three Aurors to look away from the end of the car before he slipped through the last door at the front of the train.

Luck was with him: the witch who operated the tea trolley was asleep when he entered. He slipped off his Cloak and crossed to lay a hand on her shoulder. She woke with a start when Harry gently nudged her.

“Oh, dear. Is it that time?” she asked as she came to. She looked even more perplexed as she glanced at the clock on the wall.

“I didn’t think they were allowing students up here today,” she said, before squinting at Harry. “Oh—Mr. Potter? I suppose exceptions can be made.” She smiled broadly at him. “What would you like, dear?”

“Five chocolate frogs, please,” said Harry, glancing through the window to the car behind them as he rummaged for a Galleon. “Keep the change,” he said, as she reached for her coin tray.

The old witch smiled again.

“Those poor Aurors,” Harry said, conversationally. “They never get a break when they’re running protection. I remember how hard they worked for me over the summer. I think I’d like to treat them to a few pumpkin pasties, if I may.” He handed the witch another Galleon.

“What a lovely gesture,” said the witch, dropping the Galleon into her tray without offering to make him change this time. “I’m sure they’ll be very grateful.”

“Oh, no,” said Harry with a shy, little grin. “I’d just as soon they didn’t know it was from me. Will you just say they’re compliments of the Ministry?”

“Consider it done.”

The old witch winked and shooed him to the door. When she turned and began tidying her trolley, Harry quickly wrapped himself in the Invisibility Cloak and slipped out the door.

He had to wait in the corridor, perilously close to the Aurors, for nearly five minutes before she bustled out with a plate bearing precisely three pumpkin pasties. Harry rolled his eyes, but, on second thought, realised it might seem more realistic if the gift wasn’t very generous.

The Aurors broke ranks for five seconds to accept their treats, but it was all Harry needed. He cracked the door open just enough to slide into the prefects’ compartment, masking the click of the closing door under the brief exchange of ‘thank yous’ and ‘you’re welcomes’.

Once inside, he held his breath for several seconds, assessing whether he had been seen or heard by Malfoy or his protection detail.

He needn’t have worried. Malfoy lay across the plush velvet seat of the compartment, fast asleep. There was a tense moment when one of the Aurors peered in through the glass and checked on Malfoy. Once satisfied, however, he returned to his snack.

Harry tiptoed to the seat across from Malfoy and sat down, tucking his legs up under the Invisibility Cloak. He then turned his attention on the man before him. Malfoy was stunning. That was the only word for it. Harry had developed the ability to separate emotion from attraction over the summer and, regardless of his past with Malfoy, he could admit to finding him extremely desirable.

It was clear that Malfoy had done a fair bit of physical labour during his work release programme. Harry, like everyone else, was aware that Malfoy’s release had been contingent on his completing three months of community service. The Wizengamot had seen fit to place Malfoy in Romania, at the dragon reserve where Charlie Weasley worked. Malfoy’s job had been to help with the development of a summer camp for children traumatised by the war. Apparently, playing with huge, fire-breathing, armour-clad creatures had been proven to have a therapeutic effect.

It had certainly had an effect on Malfoy’s physique. His once-skinny arms and thighs had taken on a layer of muscle mass and were nearly a match for Charlie’s. His shoulders were no longer those of a lithe Seeker; they belonged to a man who rode dragons.

Malfoy shifted in his sleep, one leg splaying open while the other dropped against the cushioned back of the seat. Harry let out a whistling breath. The dragon hide trousers clung to Malfoy in all the right places, which was just about everywhere. There was very little left to Harry’s imagination after he had let his gaze travel over the contours in the soft, worn material.

A tremulous thread of morality forced Harry’s eyes upward from the crotch of the trousers to the waistline, where a threadbare white t-shirt had risen up and exposed a few centimetres of muscled abdomen. Harry couldn’t help noticing that Malfoy appeared to have a suntan ending just at the edge of the waistband, suggesting he’d spent a fair amount of the summer wearing these trousers and little else.

He moved his eyes further up, stopping again when he reached the strip of hide tied around Malfoy’s neck. He watched when, as Malfoy swallowed, his Adam’s apple caused the strap to constrict and then loosen again.

Harry rose and moved across the compartment without thinking about what he was doing. He knelt on the floor next to Malfoy, noticing at close range that the strap, unlike the flint black of the rest of his ensemble, was actually a deep blood-red colour. A tiny, carved protective charm hung from the strap. Harry thought perhaps it was meant to be a little dragon, but the carving was clumsy and inexpert, like the work of a child.

At some point, Malfoy had discarded his long coat, but his elbow-high protective gloves remained in place. Harry could see another tan line near the cuff of gloves, as if Malfoy rarely took them off. It made sense, when Harry considered it. One wouldn’t want to be caught without gloves in case of an emergency involving a dragon. And another thought occurred to him—the Dark Mark. Malfoy would have needed to keep it covered around the children. Harry wondered if the hands beneath the gloves were still pale and neatly manicured. The idea that there might be dirt under Malfoy’s fingernails was oddly titillating to Harry.

He ran a light fingertip along the buckles on the nearest glove, assessing the possibility of opening them without waking their owner. Malfoy’s fingers curled slightly in response to the touch. Harry jerked his hand back, his eyes darting to Malfoy’s, but they remained closed.

Working in the sun had turned Malfoy’s face a golden colour, although the pink tinge of his cheeks was still visible. Harry thought he saw the beginnings of a freckle on the side of Malfoy’s nose, but it might have been a speck of dust it was so light. Malfoy’s hair was now sun bleached to point of colourlessness and it curled very slightly near the ends. Harry’s fingers crept along the edge of the seat cushion, itching to feel whether the strands were as fine and fragile as they looked.

It was only then that Harry noticed the newspaper that lay folded on the seat, partially obscured by Malfoy’s hair. In huge type across the top it read:

_Harry Potter: Saviour or Slag?_

Beneath the headline was a collage of photographs taken at various points over the summer. Each one depicted Harry with a different witch or wizard, and most were taken in what Rita Skeeter had termed “a compromising position”. The one at the center had been taken two nights ago. There was Harry, sandwiched between Oliver Wood and the Harpies’ new Seeker, Belinda-something. His head was thrown back across Wood’s shoulder and Belinda was draped across him, sucking voraciously at his neck.

Harry vaguely recalled that they had been doing body shots. Wood had poured sugar on his neck, and the girl had been chasing her Firewhisky with it. It looked far less innocent in print, however. And, in truth, it had eventually become anything _but_ innocent.

Near the bottom of the front page was a smaller article entitled:

_The Death Eater Threat in Our Schools_

Below this Harry could see the edge of a photo he suspected was of Malfoy. He reached gingerly for the paper, tugging it from beneath the sleeping man. When it was nearly free, a bit of Malfoy’s hair snagged on the edge as Harry pulled. Harry froze, but thankfully, Malfoy slept on. With great care, he freed the baby-fine strands from the rough edges of the newspaper and began to pull away.

He had just a moment’s warning: a small movement in the corner of his eye, a red flash, and then everything went dark.

* * *

Harry first became aware of a sharp pain at the base of his neck. Actually, there were pains in a number of places; it was just that the one in his neck was particularly acute. He cracked his eyes open and found himself nose-to-nose with Draco Malfoy, who was in the process of ransacking his pockets. Harry was slumped against the wall of the compartment, just to the side and out of sight of the door, and the Invisibility Cloak had slid down and pooled in his lap.

Harry groaned and started to raise his hands in protest, but he immediately found himself staring down the tip of a wand. His own wand, in fact.

“Don’t even think about it, Potter,” Malfoy whispered.

“Did you Stun me, Malfoy?” Harry whispered back, wincing at the sound of his voice reverberating in his skull.

“Yeah,” mumbled Malfoy. “Sorry about that. I’ve gotten used to throwing that hex pretty hard. Dragons, you know?” His eyes narrowed. “What did you expect, anyway? You come snooping around—invisible—when there’s a bounty on my head. How was I supposed to know it was you?”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat as Malfoy began searching his front trouser pockets.

“Are you saying if you had known it was me, you wouldn’t have Stunned me?” he asked, letting out his breath as the hand retreated.

Malfoy gave him a wicked grin.

“Well, if I’d had time to think, I might have gone for a Body-Bind. Just for old time’s sake.”

Harry felt his nose twinge at the reminder of the last time he’d been in a train compartment with Malfoy. For the first time since he’d come to, he felt a small jolt of fear.

As if reading his mind, Malfoy leered at him and flicked the tip of Harry’s nose hard with his finger. The sharp impact, while not painful, caused Harry’s eyes to tear up. He blinked, but Malfoy caught the watery look.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he sighed. “I’ve no intention of breaking your nose again. I just…” He slumped back against the side of the seats, morosely inspecting the pile he’d made from the contents of Harry’s pockets. “I’d sort of hoped you’d have my old wand.”

“I do have it,” Harry grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s in my trunk. I was going to give it to you if you came back.”

“Really?” Malfoy asked, staring at Harry as if unsure whether he was taking the piss.

A sudden burst of laughter from the Aurors outside the door caused Malfoy to jerk back on his knees, his eyes shooting to the glass. After several tense moments, he turned back to Harry.

“I’m not supposed to have contact with anyone until I’m at the school,” he said, eyeing Harry suspiciously. “But, I suppose that’s just another rule that doesn’t apply to you. They haven’t even checked to see if you’re torturing me.” He sounded more resigned than angry.

Harry motioned to his crumpled Invisibility Cloak.

“They don’t know I’m here. I’d probably be in even more trouble than you would. I’m not exactly the Ministry’s poster boy these days.”

Malfoy relaxed and his gaze flitted to the _Prophet_ , now scattered on the floor. An old-fashioned Malfoy smirk spread across his face.

“No, I should think not. It must be difficult to market the Boy Who’ll Stick It Anywhere.”

“Shut it,” Harry said, scowling. “That’s none of your business.”

“Looks as if it’s everyone’s business, Potter. Not one for discretion, are you?”

Harry bristled at the echo of Hermione’s words. If he wasn’t going to stand for one of her lectures, he certainly wasn’t going to take it from Malfoy.

“Fuck you,” he hissed. “I did the proper hero routine. Now, I want to have some fun. Anyone who doesn’t like it can piss right off.”

Malfoy’s smirk faded and he lowered Harry’s wand.

“I didn’t say I don’t like it. You know I was never a fan of the Great and Sanctimonious Potter. I rather enjoy knowing you have a weakness.” The smirk returned. “Or ten.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Glad to be of service, then.” He huffed.

“So, are you satisfied?”

Harry froze. Malfoy couldn’t possibly be inquiring about his sex life, could he?

Malfoy lifted the hem of his t-shirt and twisted from side to side, showing Harry the rest of his tanned torso. Harry’s mouth dropped open, but no sound came out.

Malfoy released his shirt and stared at Harry challengingly. “Are you?”

Harry worked his jaw, but still nothing happened.

“You came here to search me for evidence that I’m up to something, right?” Malfoy sighed. “Have you seen what you need to see? I don’t have anything but a second-hand wand and an ugly tattoo.”

Oh. _That_ kind of satisfied.

Harry shook his head. Malfoy narrowed his eyes. Harry nodded. Malfoy began to look puzzled. Finally, Harry managed to speak.

“I wasn’t searching—well, I was—but I was just curious. I know what you’ve done since the war. I’ve heard things. I know you’re not a Death Eater anymore, Malfoy.”

Malfoy didn’t seem to know what to say to this. He glanced down at the pile of Harry’s belongings, reaching absently for a small black notebook.

“Don’t!” Harry whispered, panicked. His hand shot out, but not fast enough to beat Malfoy.

He realised his mistake when Malfoy’s eyes became gleeful.

“What’s this, then?” he drawled, stroking the cover with a fingernail. “Is it private?”

“It’s…yeah; it’s classified stuff. From the war. You could get in a lot of trouble if anyone knew you looked in it.”

“How on earth did you get away with all those lies in school, Potter? You are the worst liar I have ever seen.” Malfoy thumbed the edge of the notebook, looking happier than Harry had seen him look in years. This was not good.

Harry watched with horror as Malfoy leaned against the bench behind him and opened the book to the first page. Malfoy snickered with undisguised glee.

“A little black book, Potter? Oh, my, you _have_ been naughty.”

Harry felt his face heat up. Malfoy was still holding his wand, though, so there wasn’t much he could do. Harry took a calming breath and waited for his inevitable ruin.

Malfoy took his time reading the pages, pausing now and again to look at Harry with a raised eyebrow. On several occasions, Harry thought he even looked impressed. On others, he looked a little annoyed.

Every now and then Malfoy would laugh and shake his head, sometimes making commentary such as, “Really, Potter? Finch-Fletchley? But he’s such a _Hufflepuff_ ,” before shaking his head and continuing.

There was no mistaking the moment when Malfoy came upon the entry about the Muggle bar Harry had gone to on his eighteenth birthday. His pale eyes widened and his cheeks flushed as he read the page without looking up at Harry. Once or twice, he shifted around uncomfortably, before finally giving in and reaching down to adjust his trousers. Harry purposefully refused to follow the motion with his eyes, barely controlling the urge to do the same.

There was silence for a full minute after Malfoy reached the bottom of the page, both of them looking anywhere but at each other. Finally, Malfoy cleared his throat.

“Honestly, Potter? I thought _maybe_ twenty percent of that rubbish in the _Prophet_ was true. But judging by this little diary, I’d say they actually missed quite a bit.” He peered sharply at Harry. “What exactly are you trying to prove?”

Harry sneered at Malfoy.

“Are _you_ going to give me a speech about self-respect now? I’m beginning to suspect that you and Hermione may have been separated at birth, Malfoy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he replied, lifting his chin. “The hair alone makes it an absolute impossibility. And, no, I’m not going to give you a speech. But, really, why not just get the word _needy_ tattooed across your forehead? You could have them cover that unsightly scar while they’re at it.”

“Fine,” said Harry, affecting nonchalance. “Give it back if you find it so disgusting.” He held out his hand.

Malfoy shook his head. “Oh, no, Potter. I’m not finished reading it yet. I still haven’t got to the night with Wood that’s splashed all over the paper. There’s no way I’m skipping that one.”

Malfoy continued his maddeningly thorough reading, seemingly oblivious to Harry’s growing agitation. At length, he reached the most recent entry, insisting on reading several sections aloud. Harry fidgeted through listening to the details recounted in Malfoy’s husky whisper. He was extremely grateful he still had the Invisibility Cloak draped over his lap.

Malfoy looked up when he reached the end of the page, a smug look on his face.

“I always knew Wood was a goer,” he said, amusement plain on his face.

Harry’s fingers twitched with the urge to snatch the book from Malfoy’s hands.

“Okay, you’ve had your fun. Give it here, Malfoy,” he snapped, unable to control a note of pleading in his tone.

Malfoy looked back at the book contemplatively. He slowly raised a finger and began to turn the page, glancing back up at Harry to watch his reaction.

Harry closed his eyes and listened hopelessly to the scratch of the final page turning.

The train clacked along the tracks.

One of the Aurors in the hallway cleared his throat.

Malfoy, however, was utterly silent.

When he felt he could do so without passing out, Harry opened his eyes and looked at Malfoy. The pink in Malfoy’s cheeks had gone a flaming red, and he was staring open-mouthed at the page in front of him.

Harry didn’t need any commentary to know what was on the page. He had added the last line only an hour beforehand, while trying not to watch his two best friends suck on one another’s tongues.

It was entitled _Back-to-School Wish List_ and it had four names on it. The last of which was Draco Malfoy.

The silence stretched out, as Malfoy was either unwilling or unable to say anything in response to this newest revelation. Eventually, Harry reached for the book again, only to have Malfoy tuck it close to his chest with an affronted look.

“Why, pray tell, Potter,” he asked in a clipped tone, “am I at the _end_ of this list? After Parvati Patil, of all people? Didn’t you already take a run at her?”

Harry sensed danger in nearly every possible response to the question.

“It’s, uh, not in any particular order,” he said, toying with the edge of his Invisibility Cloak. “I didn’t even know for certain you’d be at school until today. You know, when I saw you on the platform.”

“It’s been all over the papers, Potter,” Malfoy said tightly.

“For obvious reasons, I don’t read the paper very often,” Harry muttered. Then a crazy idea occurred to him. “Are you upset about being _on_ the list, Malfoy? Or upset because you’re _last_?”

“What I am,” Malfoy said haughtily, “is utterly offended to find my name tossed in with this—” he gestured with the notebook, “—riffraff.”

“I told you, Malfoy,” Harry said again, “there isn’t any meaning behind who’s on that list or the order it’s in. I only knew I’d be seeing you at school when I saw you at the station.”

“So,” Malfoy said, sounding agitated, “you saw one of the dozen people in the entire wizarding world you hadn’t shagged and thought you’d put him on the list? How very thorough of you.”

“No,” Harry said, desperate to wipe the insulted expression from Malfoy’s face. “I saw the one person I thought I’d never have a chance with and let myself dream a little.”

For a second, Harry thought Draco looked flattered, maybe even pleased. But just as quickly, he was lunging at Harry, hands outstretched. Harry steeled himself for the fist he was certain was about to smash his nose, but instead he found himself suddenly smothered in his Invisibility Cloak. Malfoy leaned back as quickly as he had moved forward, arranging himself casually against the side of the seat.

Just as Harry was about to ask what the hell Malfoy was doing, he heard the door of the compartment sliding open. One of the Aurors stuck his head in and peered at Malfoy.

“Everything alright in here?” the Auror asked, looking around with a frown. “Thought I heard voices.”

Malfoy stretched out his legs and gestured lazily at the Auror with Harry’s notebook.

“Just reading aloud,” he said. “It helps me concentrate.”

The Auror nodded and jerked his head toward the door. “Tea trolley is coming round. Are you hungry?”

Malfoy nudged the pile of Harry’s things, indicating the chocolate frogs. “I’m set.”

After another look around, the Auror nodded and removed himself to the hallway.

“ _Muffliato_ ,” Harry whispered, after the door clicked shut.

“Excuse me?” Malfoy whispered back.

“Cast a _Muffliato_ ,” he repeated, but Malfoy looked blank. “That’s the incantation. The wand movement is—”. He began to demonstrate before he remembered that Malfoy couldn’t see him. “Oh, never mind,” he hissed. “May I please have my wand back?”

Malfoy looked dubious.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Malfoy. You have all the ammunition you’ll need to blackmail me for years to come. I’m obviously not going to do anything to piss you off.”

“I’m not above screaming for help if I must,” Malfoy said, hesitantly holding out Harry’s wand.

Harry gripped his wand and cast the spell, allowing himself a wicked grin that Malfoy couldn’t see.

“That’s the beauty of _Muffliato_ , Malfoy. Go ahead and scream all you want.”

Malfoy’s suddenly trapped expression wasn’t exactly what Harry had been going for. Harry crawled forward and leaned in to whisper in Malfoy’s ear. “Only if you want to, I mean.”

Up close, Malfoy smelled of an utterly delicious combination of sweat, worn dragon hide and smoke. Harry took a deep breath through his nose and was struck with a sudden, powerful memory. “You smell like Fiendfyre,” he whispered against Malfoy’s neck.

Malfoy tensed and Harry knew exactly what he was remembering. “Not Fiendfyre,” Malfoy said, breathing quickly. “Dragon fire.”

“Oh, of course,” Harry said, letting his lips brush lightly against the skin below Malfoy’s ear. “Sometimes I can still smell it, though. The Room of Requirement, I mean. Do you remember how hot it was?”

“Every day,” Malfoy replied in a shaky voice, his eyes drifting closed. “I’ve never said it, have I?”

“What?” asked Harry, distracted by Malfoy’s tongue, which had flicked out to wet his lips.

“Thank you,” Malfoy said very quietly, his breath hitching.

“Oh. You’re welcome,” Harry responded. He let his mouth brush along the edge of Malfoy’s ear and got a gratifying shiver.

“So, was I wrong before, Malfoy?” Harry asked, sitting back and wrapping a hand around the ankle of Malfoy’s boot. “ _Do_ I have a chance with you?” Malfoy’s leg twitched at the contact, but didn’t pull away.

Malfoy’s eyes searched the air in front of him, apparently trying to find a way to look an invisible Harry in the eye.

“I realise my family name has taken quite a fall from grace, Potter…” Malfoy sniffed, “…but, I am still a Malfoy. I am not an item to be checked off a to-do list.”

“No,” Harry said, running his hand up the back of the boot and gripping the tight calf. “You’re a list entirely to yourself.”

Harry took Malfoy’s sharp intake of breath as the answer he was looking for.

“Watch the door,” Harry said.

He crawled between Malfoy’s legs, and ran his hands up firm thighs, mapping the powerful new muscles with his fingertips. Malfoy, still looking stunned, made no move to stop him. His chest heaved as Harry’s light touch reached his hipbones and stroked.

“Have I ever mentioned that I’ve got a thing for dragon hide?” Harry asked, teasing a finger at Malfoy’s waistband.

“No, but Charlie did,” said Malfoy, watching open-mouthed as a finger slipped out from beneath the Cloak and tugged playfully at the lacings of his trousers.

“You and Charlie discussed my kinks?” Harry asked, incredulously.

“Not exactly,” said Malfoy, his breath hitching as Harry folded up the hem of his t-shirt and ran a finger around his navel. “You came up once or twice. He merely mentioned that if someone wanted your attention, dragon hide boots were a good choice.”

“You wanted my attention?” Harry asked, pushing the t-shirt up until his thumb made contact with a hardened nipple.

“Hardly,” Malfoy huffed. “I was going to wear this anyway. I didn’t have time to get anything new to wear this year.”

Harry pulled away, and Malfoy reached out automatically, but found only empty air. He frowned in Harry’s direction. He tried again, but still Harry evaded his grasp. After a moment, a blush rising on his cheeks again, he sighed and spoke.

“Okay, yes. I wanted your attention. In that regard nothing has changed,” he said, glaring at Harry. “Are you happy now? Is that what you needed to hear?”

“That the star of my favourite wank fantasy has been thinking about me, too? Yes, I’m happy. It gives me a higher level of confidence about what I’m about to do.”

“Wank fantasy?” Malfoy looked momentarily scandalised. “What is it are you about to—” Malfoy began again, but stopped when Harry’s palm cupped his cock through his trousers and began to rub. “Oh.”

“I’m going to try to make you scream, Malfoy.”

Emboldened by the hardness pressing back into his hand, Harry began to unknot the laces on Malfoy’s trousers. It was difficult work, with the Invisibility Cloak bunching under his fingers, so with a quick glance to the door to ensure the Aurors were otherwise engaged, he lifted the Cloak up to include Malfoy’s lap.

“That’s so weird,” Malfoy whispered. “I’m partly invisible.”

“Good point,” Harry responded, pulling at Malfoy’s legs until he had shifted his lower half out of the direct line of sight from the door.

Without the hindrance of the Cloak, he managed to loosen the trousers to the point that they could be removed. Malfoy’s hips arched helpfully off the floor, practically begging Harry to yank the trousers down.

Harry watched as Malfoy thrust helplessly at the air, seeking release from the constricting laces. It was tempting, but Harry had another even stronger urge. He settled himself between Malfoy’s writhing legs, carefully arranging the Cloak around his head, and pressed a kiss against the exposed tan line at the top of the loosened trousers.

The flesh tensed and shivered beneath his lips. Harry inhaled deeply as he mouthed his way down the curve of Malfoy’s trapped cock. The smell of burnt dragon hide and arousal was almost overwhelming.

Harry groaned and bit down on the laces, pulling at them with his teeth. Malfoy’s hips jerked so forcefully that Harry nearly lost his balance. The tips of Malfoy’s gloved fingers dug into his scalp and held him in place.

Harry grasped the waistband of the trousers and yanked, pulling them down until they caught on Malfoy’s heavy work boots. Malfoy had done him the service of wearing no pants, and Harry took a moment to survey what he had uncovered. Malfoy’s hips and thighs were shockingly pale when compared to his brown stomach. The blond hair on his legs and at the base of his cock was nearly invisible against the similarly light skin. A shimmering, slick layer of sweat at the juncture of his pelvis and his thighs made Harry want to rut against him like an animal.

But Malfoy’s cock. Now _that_ was a thing of beauty. Thick and hard and nearly as pale as the rest of him, save for the dusty, rose-coloured head. Harry wrapped a loose grip around it, just enough to make Malfoy grind his hips up again, in that desperate way that pleased Harry immeasurably.

This time Malfoy added a little whimper to his hip thrust, and Harry rewarded him by fractionally tightening his grip.

“So,” said Harry in a conversational tone, as if he weren’t swirling his palm around the now soaking wet head of an ex-enemy’s cock, “I’m curious about something.”

“What?” Malfoy exhaled, rolling his head back onto the seat cushion.

“Do you taste like dragon fire, too?”

Malfoy’s head shot up from the cushion, his eyes darting around in search of something to focus on. He finally settled for looking at the place where his hand gripped invisible hair, which he began to knead roughly.

“I’m not sure,” Malfoy said in a rough, unfamiliar voice. “But please tell me you’re about to let me know.”

“I’m definitely about to let you know.”

Harry took another second to admire the open expression of desire on Malfoy’s face before he turned his attention to the now-rigid cock in his hand. Harry lowered his head slowly, allowing a puff of breath to serve as warning just before his mouth closed around the head.

He sucked lightly, considering the flavour as if testing wine before a meal.

“Mmm. Full-bodied, a hint of smoke, with an undertone of cherry,” he murmured, mimicking the pompous crap he had to listen to at every Ministry function. “Delicious.”

As he was leaning forward to continue his tasting, he felt his Cloak shift and cool air touch his face. He glanced up to see that Malfoy had lifted the edge of the Cloak and was raptly starting down at him.

“You want to watch?” He grinned at Malfoy.

“Fuck, yes,” Malfoy growled. “I may not be the first person to see this sight, but it’s still pretty fucking singular to me.”

Harry locked eyes with Malfoy, all teasing leaving his voice. “You may not believe this, but there aren’t many who _have_ seen it.” Without breaking eye contact, he flicked out his tongue, lightly circling the head of Malfoy’s cock.

“That Muggle on your birthday did,” Malfoy said, his eyes narrowing.

Oh, yeah. The book.

Harry reached out and pressed his thumb against Malfoy’s lower lip. After a moment’s stubbornness, Malfoy opened his mouth and sucked at it. Harry brought the wet thumb down to replace his tongue

“That is true,” he admitted, gathering a drop of pre-come on the pad of his thumb. “But think of it this way; now I don’t have to learn about keeping my teeth covered with you.” Harry smiled at Draco and sucked his thumb clean.

Malfoy’s eyes widened, and Harry fixed him with an evil smirk before leaning back in and taking Malfoy’s cock to the back of his throat in one go.

Malfoy yanked several hairs from Harry’s head with his clutching hand. He let a series of harsh gasps out before he was able to answer. “That is—” he breathed again, “—useful, then.”

A number of comebacks occurred to Harry, but he was finished with talking. He hadn’t been lying. This was only the third time he had ever done this. It was, for Harry, an intensely intimate act and he had not enjoyed doing it for casual fucks. But this was entirely different. This was Malfoy; he was enjoying the hell out of this.

He took a long time drawing back up the length of Malfoy’s cock, dragging his tongue along the underside as he went. Malfoy _did_ taste like Dragon fire; he was salty and sweaty and _hot_. Harry closed his eyes and ran his tongue around the head of Malfoy’s prick. A rushing sound in Harry’s ears took him back again to the Room of Requirement, to the howl of the Fiendfyre as it chased them through the burning air. He could feel Malfoy’s thighs trembling around his ribcage and a matching tremor in the hand on his head. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the head of Malfoy’s erection, before sliding his mouth slowly down the length again.

Malfoy’s hand let go of his hair and Harry looked up, surprised to see the hand now clamped over Malfoy’s mouth. Harry drew off and resumed teasing with his thumb, while reaching with his other hand to pry Malfoy’s gloved fingers from his face.

“They can’t hear you. It’s okay to make noise,” he said.

“ _You_ can hear me,” Malfoy said, flushing a gorgeous pink.

“What would be wrong with that?” Harry asked.

Malfoy pressed his lips together and said nothing.

“C’mon, Malfoy,” Harry said teasingly. “I _want_ to hear what I’m doing to you.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed again. “I’d prefer not to read about the sounds I make during sex in the newspaper.”

Harry scowled back at Malfoy. “I’m not going to tell anyone if you don’t, Malfoy. But, if you’re really worried about it, I can stop right now.”

Malfoy’s glare was gone in a second. “No,” he said quickly. “It’s fine. Continue.”

“Gee, thanks,” Harry responded curtly, making no move to resume.

After a few moments, Malfoy’s haughty gaze faltered, replaced with a look of mild panic. He pushed his cock into Harry’s hand experimentally, and looked even more concerned when Harry still did nothing.

“Please,” he finally said. Harry marveled at Malfoy’s ability to make the request sound like a command.

“Please, what?” Harry countered.

“Please. Continue.” Malfoy gestured vaguely under the Cloak.

“Please, continue what?” Harry pressed. When Malfoy didn’t reply, Harry wrapped his hand around Malfoy’s cock again and squeezed lightly. “If you’re going to pretend you aren’t here, I don’t really see the point.” Harry gestured at the abandoned black book. “I can get an anonymous one-off anytime I want. Right now, I want to hear Draco Malfoy screaming. For me.”

 _Again_ , he thought, his mind drifting back to the flaming Room of Requirement.

The words got Harry what he wanted. Malfoy let out an agonised moan and bucked his hips violently.

“Please—suck my cock,” Malfoy gasped, then added, “Potter.”

 _Good enough_ , Harry thought. This time, there was no gentle exploration. Harry flattened his tongue and tightened his mouth into a vice, doing his level best to fuck the man with his mouth. He couldn’t take all of Malfoy in at this pace, so he used his hand in opposition to his mouth, stroking and sucking as roughly as he had ever dared.

Malfoy gave up any pretense of being unresponsive. He was now crying out with each downward drive of Harry’s mouth, fisting Harry’s hair with both hands, and had clamped his thighs so powerfully around Harry’s torso that he couldn’t have pulled away if he wanted to. It was fucking bliss.

Malfoy’s muscles began to tense and his moans went up an octave. He was about to come and he still hadn’t given Harry what he wanted.

Harry released the base of Malfoy’s cock and slipped his spit-soaked fingers beneath Malfoy to stroke at the soft skin behind his balls. Malfoy reacted as expected, shoving himself up towards Harry’s mouth fervently.

Harry slid his fingers further back, searching for Malfoy’s entrance. As he brushed his fingertips across it, Malfoy tensed in another way and his moans ceased altogether. _Too soon_ , Harry thought, mildly disappointed. He contented himself with curling both hands around Malfoy’s clenching buttocks and stroking lightly at his crack, which had Malfoy back in the game in seconds.

Harry was now brutally grinding his own erection into the carpeted floor of the compartment, rutting against the inside of his trousers shamelessly. The sounds coming out of Malfoy were fantastic. The louder he moaned, the harder Harry sucked, eager to hear more.

Harry was caught completely by surprise when a sharp cry from Malfoy triggered his own orgasm with almost no warning. It was all he could do to keep his mouth moving on Malfoy as his vision went white and he emptied himself violently against the floor.

He dimly heard Malfoy gasping, “Did you just—?” and managed an affirmative groan around Malfoy’s thrusting cock. And then, with the same total lack of warning as had just struck Harry, Malfoy came hard in his mouth, and, _oh, fuck yes_ , screamed.

Harry kept his mouth and hands steady, just holding on for the ride as Malfoy writhed and bucked for what felt like minutes. When he finally stilled, Malfoy’s hips dropped like a stone, trapping Harry’s hands under his weight.

Both of them lay panting for long seconds, making no move to separate. It was the sound of the door latch opening that catapulted them into action. Malfoy yanked at his trousers and contracted into a ball in a single, swift movement, while Harry ducked his head quickly under the Cloak and curled himself against the wall.

“The conductor says we’ll be pulling in shortly—” the Auror was saying as he stuck his head into the compartment.

The Auror frowned and touched a finger to his ear. _Oh, fuck_ , thought Harry. “ _Finite Incantatem_ ”, he whispered, breathing a sigh of relief when the Auror’s hand dropped to his side.

“Are you feeling alright, Mr. Malfoy?” the Auror asked, his tone changing to concern as he took in Malfoy’s crumpled position.

“Too many chocolate frogs,” he croaked. “Stomach ache.”

The Auror nodded curtly. “Right,” he said. “We’ll make arrangements to move you directly to the hospital wing on arrival.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Malfoy said quickly, tucking his legs in tighter. “I merely have a sensitive digestive tract. I’m certain it’ll pass shortly.”

“We take no chances with our charges, Mr. Malfoy,” the Auror insisted. “I’ll send word ahead now.” He stepped back out of the compartment with the air of a man on a mission.

Malfoy watched him go with a look of horror.

He was broken out of his daze by Harry’s giggles emanating from under the Cloak. He aimed a kick at Harry’s ribs, but wound up hitting him in the knee instead.

“It isn’t funny, you bastard,” Malfoy hissed. “We were nearly caught.”

“We weren’t,” Harry said, stifling his chuckles. “Anyway, I don’t think we’d really get in that much trouble. The Ministry is always going on about mending burnt bridges and all that. We could just say we were trying to work out our old differences.” He began to giggle again.

Malfoy scowled. “I told you before. I have no interest in being featured in the Harry Potter _Lay of the Day_ column.”

Harry stopped laughing abruptly. “Okay. How would you feel about _Lay of the Year_?”

“What?” Malfoy asked, squinting in the direction of Harry’s voice.

Harry flipped up the edge of the Cloak and fixed Malfoy with a serious stare. “One time is not going to suffice, Malfoy. I’m asking what you’re doing for the rest of the year.”

“What about your little list?” Malfoy sniffed.

Harry flicked his wand casually in the direction of his notebook. “ _Evanesco_ ,” he muttered, surprising himself with how little he cared as the book he had spent all summer creating disappeared forever.

He turned back to Malfoy with an exaggerated expression of puzzlement. “What list?”

Malfoy smiled brilliantly for an instant before he remembered himself and replaced it with his standard aloof sneer.

“I won’t share, Potter.”

“Of course not,” Harry countered, not bothering to hide his own beaming smile.

“I will hex the shit out of you if you embarrass me.”

“I would expect nothing less.” Harry grinned.

“We’ll be there soon,” Malfoy said. “You’d better go.”

Harry’s smile faltered. Malfoy eyed him briefly before reaching out and pulling the Cloak down, blocking Harry’s hopeful face from his sight.

“Madame Pomfrey typically goes to bed around ten o’clock, does she not?” Malfoy said offhandedly.

Harry grinned madly. “About then, yes.”

“See you later, Potter,” Malfoy said, turning his attention to lacing up his trousers. He then walked to the door and slid it open, holding it there while he spoke with the lead Auror. “I believe you were correct. I would like to go to the hospital wing on arrival. I’m feeling quite poorly, after all.”

“It’s already arranged, Mr. Malfoy,” the Auror replied, glancing towards the door at the end of the carriage as if he had seen something out of the ordinary.

“Thank you,” replied Malfoy, re-capturing his attention. “You have been most efficient chaperones.”

“Just doing our jobs, Mr. Malfoy.”

Malfoy nodded politely and stepped back into his compartment.

* * *

“Harry, where have you been?” Hermione demanded, jumping out of Ron’s lap and smoothing her crumpled shirt.

“I went down to have a look at Malfoy,” Harry answered honestly.

“Oh, Harry, you aren’t going to start stalking him again, are you?” Hermione asked, giving him _the look_. “The war is over. It’s time to get on with our lives.”

“I completely agree, Hermione,” Harry said with a grin. “But, you know what they say. Old habits die hard.”


End file.
